


Au Violon s'use l'archet

by Blablu



Series: Nile and her team [1]
Category: The Old Guard (Comics), The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Gen, Immortality, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, phone conversation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-21
Updated: 2020-07-21
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:28:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25427689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blablu/pseuds/Blablu
Summary: He hears the phone ringing through a fog of bad dreams and alcohol, and launches himself off the couch in a desperate rush to pick up before it’s too late."How is she ?" he asks immediately. "Is everyone all right ?""She’s fine," says Nile. "We all are."Nile has trouble dealing with some aspects of her immortality, so Booker gets a phone call.
Relationships: Booker | Sebastien le Livre & Nile Freeman
Series: Nile and her team [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1858156
Comments: 20
Kudos: 208





	Au Violon s'use l'archet

He hears the phone ringing through a fog of bad dreams and alcohol, and launches himself off the couch in a desperate rush to pick up before it’s too late.  
"How is she ?" he asks immediately. "Is everyone all right ?"  
There’s a pause at the other end. Probably a short one, but it’s more than enough to send him on high alert. He speaks as calmly as he can :  
"Nile. Are you in danger ? Just say yes or... "  
"She’s fine", says Nile, something like a laugh in her voice. "We all are."  
"Oh."  
He’s surprised to find his relief marred with disappointment. Of course, if they had needed him, he could have just come back, could have redeemed himself the easy way, but still… it’s low. Even for him. He can taste bile in his throat.  
"Sorry to be a letdown", snarks Nile, ever the perceptive one.  
"Don’t. It’s good that you’re..." safe might not be the right word. "It’s good that you’re all doing good."  
Oh, for fuck’s sake... "good you’re doing good" ? Really ? He pinches the bridge of his nose, appalled by his babbling. _Quel poète_ , would have said Joe with a wink, but he’s not sure Joe will want to offer him any joke or wink even in a century. Tonight, fortunately, he has Nile’s silence to tear him away from his self-pity.  
"Nile ?"  
"Yeah ?"  
"Are you… and I mean you, not you and the others, are you okay ?"  
"I’m adjusting", she says.  
"Adjusting."  
"We all are", she repeats.  
"Nile..." this conversation is getting cyclical. "What happened ?"  
"Nothing happened."  
"Please. You’ve been with them for what ? Three months ?" – 103 days, but he can’t let her know he’s been counting – "and you haven't called me once until now, so : what happened ?"  
He uses the ensuing silence to rinse a glass and pour himself some tap water. Tomorrow’s hangover will be a mean one. He imagines Nile propped up against the trunk of a car, looking at the sky to find the strength to press on. He doesn’t rush her. Doesn’t ask if it’s nighttime too where she is, if she slipped away while the others where sleeping, Joe and Nicky squeezed against each others like knives in a drawer, Andy...  
"Nothing happened", Nile says again. "Tomorrow is." She has to stop, tries again. "Tomorrow’s my brother’s birthday."  
Shit. And also shit : drinking water was a bad idea.  
"Give me a minute", he pleads before emptying his stomach into the kitchen sink.  
"Wow", says Nile from miles away. "Are you ? … wow. I am so glad I called you, man. I knew you would find just the right words. That’s just… that’s great, it’s great."  
"Sorry", he rasps, wiping his mouth with his forearm. She softens immediately :  
"It’s alright. This can’t be easy for you."  
"No, I mean. I’m sorry. I’m sorry you can’t be here for him. I truly am. I can’t even begin to imagine what it’s like to..." To know that you could easily be there and yet have to stay away.  
"You were there" – it’s like she’s reading his mind – "You were always there, for your family."  
For a second he thinks she’s mocking him, throwing his betrayal right in his face. Then he realizes she’s talking about his sons.  
"Well", he temporizes. "As soon as I de-conscripted myself, anyway."  
She doesn’t laugh. Figures : it wasn’t very funny. He still routinely wakes up with the feeling of a noose tightening around his neck.  
"I shouldn’t have been." He continues. "I know you don’t want to hear that. I know you want me to tell you to go for it, no matter what, but I shouldn't have been there for them. I’m sorry, Nile. It’s not worth the pain."  
"Isn’t it ?" she counters. "Weren’t they ?"  
He breathes hard, head spinning :  
"It hurt them too, terribly. It’s not just about our pain."  
"So Copley letting them think I was KIA is fine, but if I wish them a happy birthday, it’s gonna hurt them too much ?"  
"You’re still working with Copley ?"  
"Jesus Christ !" she snaps. "Can you not make this about you for one fucking minute ?"  
"Sorry."  
"Yeah, I bet you are."  
There’s another silence. He tries to drink some water again and gives up after two sips.  
"I see you’ve been to Nicky’s school of devastating one-liners", he says with a fondness he hopes she can hear.  
She snorts.  
"Sorry, Booker. I’m just. It’s just. I feel like shit. Because I know, I _know_ , you hear me ? that my Mom…." - she swallows audibly, and that’s how he knows she’s crying - "My Mom would never hate me. And I could be there, by her side, supporting her, but after all she’s been through, all she’s been through for us, I’m just adding more to the pile and what kind of daughter..."  
"Nile..."  
She sniffles and swears quietly, and he can picture her wiping her nose like he did his mouth, with the back of her hand.  
"And my brother deserves to know I’m okay, too. Not to… not to drop everything to take care of Mom, like I know he has, because he’s a good son and he would never leave her alone like that, he would never..."  
"Nile."  
"And don’t tell me it’s not about what he or she deserves, okay, because I know that, I know life doesn’t work like that, I’ve known it for decades, but it’s still..."  
"Nile !"  
"What !"  
"Talk to them. Not", he adds quickly, "not your family, them. Andy and Nicky and Joe. Tell them how you feel. Ask for their advice. Don’t stew in your feelings like that."  
"I’m not stewing in anything. I called you." And she sounds fond, too, beneath the grief.  
"You probably shouldn’t do that either."  
"Say that to the guy who gave me your number… Oh. Wait. It was you."  
He laughs.  
"I am a very flawed man", he admits. "But I meant what I said, Nile. Talk to them. See what they have to say about this. You don’t have to face it on your own."  
"I know. I know, but… I don’t know. I don’t want to be angry at them."  
"Nile..."  
"Stop saying my name all the time, it’s getting weird."  
He smiles, a little sadly. He can tell she’s ready to hang up. He wonders if it would be the same with his sons : if they were alive today, and calling him, could he guess when they would want to stop talking ?  
"You should also tell them" – he forces himself to drag the words out – "that you have my number. It’s only fair."  
"I guess..." _Are you seriously lecturing me about going behind their backs ?_ lurks in the air, unspoken.  
"Good luck, Nile."  
"You too. And, Booker ?"  
"Yes ?"  
"Thanks."  
"Anytime", he says, for his sake more than hers.  
It must be close to dawn : a gray light, flooding the window, slowly rises against the walls. Booker puts the phone down and starts cleaning his sink.

**Author's Note:**

>  _Quel poète_ : What a poet. (but I'm sure you had guessed that)  
>    
>    
> The title, _Au violon s'use l'archet_ (which I'll badly translate as : the bow wears itself out playing the violin), is from _Je chante pour passer le temps_ (I sing to pass the time), a poem by Aragon about having lived through the second half of the twentieth century, marveling at the technological and political changes you've witnessed and feeling serenely tired. It makes me go, I confess, slightly feral.  
> It might not entirely suit this fic but : immortality is exhausting, is my point.  
> 


End file.
